Transspecieality

by Chatoyance

Six

SIX

According to my high school history class, the Equestrian Worldgates opened almost simultaneously around the world. The humans of the 1200's suddenly had extraversal neighbors, and no amount of prayers or violence could close the portals. Different nations dealt with the problem in a variety of ways. Some welcomed a chance at trade and commerce, others built huge structures to wall up the Gates as best they could. Ponies, for their part, soon learned which Gates led to potential opportunity, and which to death, torture, or a sealed-off dead end.

Some historians have claimed that the Worldgates are wounds in time and space, punctures in the cosmic fabric. There are still humans that want those wounds to 'heal'. I don't think the Gates are injuries to the cosmos. I think they are blessings.

I, at least, had healed nicely (so they told me), and the overall swelling was much less. But, now I finally got to see just how my magically ravaged body had come together as my bandages were removed. My fur was mostly back now, white and soft. My bones were all correctly proportioned for a true Equestrian pony. My skull now properly fit my huge pony eyes. My tall pony ears were finally in the right place, up top, and I could move them easily. Yet still, with the bandages removed, excess black necrotic lumps of dead me hung from various patches, but overall I now looked less like hamburger, and more like steak. I finally realized that Dr. Biber had been observing the whole thing. He assured me that everything was normal, and that I was healing remarkably quickly. Then he informed me about the catheter. It was to be removed. I had needed to lay quietly while my permanentized body solidified and adjusted. That time was over.

There was something I should know about all of this. The catheter had to be removed, because the longer it stayed in, the more likely were my brand new urinary muscles to lose the ability to function. If that occurred I could face being incontinent for the rest of my life. If I had suffered permanent nerve damage, this could also be the case, but it was not too likely. I had a limited number of hours to learn how to urinate, providing that the swelling permitted it. If I failed, the catheter would have to be replaced. I did not want that to happen. I would find out why, when they removed the catheter.

At the end of a catheter is a little balloon of sorts, that keeps it from falling out of the bladder. Even deflated, it has mass which trails the tube of the catheter itself. All of this has to be pulled carefully out the bladder, and the body, through the urethra. Once I had felt this exquisite sensation, I realized that the one thing I wanted most in life was to teach myself how to pee.

After the fifth attempt, the nurse suggested standing in the shower. Running water helped, she said. I agreed to the plan. It was very hard to stand up, for I was utterly weak. With the door open, shaking from the effort of fighting gravity to support my own weight, I attempted to urinate for the first time as a fully transmogrified Equestrian. The warm water ran down my flanks, feeling very good. I tried to figure out what internal ‘switch’ to pull, what nerve to trigger. Everything was new. It was like being thrust into the cockpit of a 747 and expected to land the plane without ever having even driven a car.

I imagined streams and rivers. I tried to follow my own nerves inside my own body. I tried to feel what I could of my new construction from the inside; I dared not project my magically energetic hornfield to sense around myself just yet. I had no idea what to do.
I began to feel worried and hopeless. What if I could never control my urine? I became frightened.

Then I had a brilliant thought. I felt all swollen inside. Hmmm. I remembered all those awful involuntary functions I had suffered as a human, long ago. I remembered how I willed them to go away, in embarrassed horror. I started to apply the same internal trick, concentrating on making the swollen feeling go away. I reasoned that the nerves had been traumatized deep inside. Even if that was not true, maybe the same inner control would work on any swollen tissue. I felt the water, and I imagined making everything human just drain away.

I began to pee. I was urinating under my own control! I could feel part of the muscle that started and stopped the flow. It felt weak, so I practiced stopping and starting my urine. I was so happy! It was like Christmas in Yellow!

By day seven, I was near rebellion. It was just too much. They had gone too far! Every meal. Low salt. My total salt intake came from two, count them two, tiny pimento-stuffed green olives. Every day, I dreamt of those olives. They were served with the bland alfalfa broth and bread that made our meal. Two wonderful green orbs, so succulent, so precious, so sweet. They did not even taste salty, just sweet, like honey, like nectar. I savored both, nibbling them in microscopic bits for an hour, then licking my equine lips over and over.

I was feeling my oats. I was a paying customer, and I deserved better, dammit! But those foul razorbacks in the nutritionist's lair refused us anything good. So something had to be done. I was the pony to do it! I was on a mission from Celestia after all!

I demanded my saddlebags. I demanded a phone. I asked politely for a phonebook. What was I up to? After a bit, my call was made. I smirked. I laughed. I chortled. Cumulus, my roommate, was both worried and intrigued. The nursing staff started hanging around our room. Something was afoot and they all knew it.

A very nice human arrived, my savior. He brought with him heaven. I paid him with demonic glee. PIZZA TIME!

Cumulus was in ecstasy. I was beyond that. The pickled, salty artichoke hearts floated on cheap, melted cheese. Rich piles of sliced pickled eggs (ponies are lacto-vegetarians, after all!) mocked all hospital nutritionists everywhere. I didn’t even like pickled eggs. It was the principle that mattered. It was the salt that mattered most of all. The other transspecies patients ambled in, drawn like pony salt zombies to a kill. The nurses threw up their hands. A couple of them asked for a piece. I shared joyfully with everyone. This was a triumph of the Equestrian soul. This was the overthrow of nutritional tyranny. This was crappy, cheap, vegetarian cardboard delivery pizza, and it was GOOD.

The pizza incident brought a call by Sister Roberta Marie. It was very improper to do that. I shouldn’t incite the other ‘special’ patients that way. I should be grateful that the hospital was even willing to treat farm animals like us at all.

This only made me more sure I was doing the right thing.

It was required that we hobble about a bit every day. We clopped around somewhat shakily, because we were still swollen and sore from the massive magical reshaping and material transmogrification of our bones and flesh.

I decided I was going to see some more of the hospital. I could trot pretty decently now. I wanted to visit the gift shop and buy a stuffed animal for myself (I was hoping for a doll of Celestia, if they had one!). Cumulus was afraid we would get in trouble if we left the ‘special’ ward. I no longer cared. I was tired of being so damn ‘special’.

I had no trouble leaving the ward, nobody was looking. There were no locks. I began to explore my hospital world. I found the gift shop, but saw nothing I liked. I decided to head back. Along the way, I saw a waving hand through an open door.

It belonged to a very old human woman, in for a kidney stone. She was just being friendly, and was lonely because her daughter and granddaughter had not come to visit yet. She was sure they would, soon. She had hoped they would come yesterday. The day before that they also had not come. She was sure they would come today. Or maybe tomorrow. I could see a tear.

I sat with her for quite a while, as best I could, holding her withered hand delicately with a carefully crooked hoof. We chatted about how pretty her granddaughter was and how she had been in Trinidad as a little girl, back before the hospital, or even any doctor or Equestrian mage at all. She liked the mountains and (earthly) horses. She did not mind that I was one of Biber’s special patients. She knew it must be tough for us. I stayed with her a long time, until the pain of trying to use a human chair was too much. I excused myself, and apologized for leaving. She said I had made her day, and she thought I was very nice. She thought I looked like her granddaughter's favorite Shetland.

I walked carefully back to the transspecies ward. The nurses got me back into my bed. It felt good to lie down. I had not found a stuffed animal. I had done better than that. I had helped someone.

The next day was the ninth day, the day I was to leave. One of the nurses took me aside and told me that I had a slight elevation in my temperature, and a minor negative energy indication from her thaumometer. It was probably nothing, but she was concerned. She told me that about 20 percent of Biber’s patients get demonic possessions, because, well the guy is getting a little old. She did not want to get in trouble, but she did not want anyone to be hurt either. She told me that she was going to do something for me, but never to speak of it, because she could lose her career if anyone found out. She handed me a bottle of antidemonics. She told me to take them carefully, and finish them all if my fever got worse. I thanked her very much.

Sister Roberta Marie was furious as she escorted me from the hospital to the waiting taxi. She told me in no uncertain terms what she and her Jesus thought of perverted "whorses" like me. She felt that going out of the ward was a severe breach of the rules and it was unforgivable that I had corrupted a poor old woman with my vile evil. She was glad to see me gone. I was a bad influence and a troublemaker.

I had truly had enough. I told Roberta Marie that I thought her religion was an evil, spiteful, hypocritical lie. I told her that she was a bitter old woman whose heart was filled with hate.

She responded the only way she was programmed to, with the inevitable threat of the hell I would burn in for all eternity, good riddance.

Better hell, than to worship a hate-mongering tyrant. Besides, I was Equestrian. Hell didn’t exist for me. Tartarus, maybe, but I wasn't planning on ever trying to conquer Equestria, so I doubted it would be an issue.

My last sight of Sister Roberta Marie was her waddling angrily back to the hospital.

Taxi to train, and the countryside was rolling by. I had a sleeping bunk, and I needed it because I was feeling trainsick and dizzy. I was very weak. As the day went by, I felt increasing nausea. The train really bothered me for some reason. I wanted to get off. I wished I could get off.

I never felt the wreck.

It happened far ahead of my car, and was not very serious. The engine had slipped the tracks, some cars had fallen over, and the train had come to a halt. I was in a stupor, so I was awakened by some sharp jolts. We all had to disembark. My car was one of the tilted ones, I had to be helped up the angled floor to get out of the door. A fleet of taxis took us to motels and hotels. I was really woozy and very confused, so I did not remember how I got into my room or on my bed.

I woke up to find myself in Albuquerque, New Mexico in a strange hotel room. I felt terribly bad. I was dripping with sweat, which was matting my fur, and I felt funny. I called room service and asked for some soda and an aspirin. I telekinetically dug in my suitcase for my traveling stuff. In a baggie, I had my toothbrush, toothpaste, the last of my serum, and even my little plastic-cased thermometer. I figured I had a slight fever. I had better check. First I had my soda though, because by the time It arrived I was feeling slightly better. The aspirin helped my throbbing head. I was so tired. I fell asleep again for awhile.

I awoke. The room was all twisted. Everything looked slanted sideways 45 degrees, but I could not interpret which direction it was slanted. My head pounded like a jackhammer. Everything sounded far away and also with an odd echo effect. I tried to move. Bit by bit, I inched to the edge of the bed. Every movement made the world swim. It was hard to tell up from down.

I made it to the edge of the bed, and somehow got my hooves on the floor. I could not stand up. So I crawled on my belly to my suitcase. I got my thermometer. I took an antidemonic. It was obvious I had a post-ritual possession of some sort.

I was dripping sweat, then freezing every few minutes. I had better check my temperature. It was hard to put the thermometer in my mouth. No, that was backwards. Better. I startled awake. The thermometer was still in my mouth. How much time had passed? Enough for a reading, surely. I took out the thermometer. The room was even worse, all twisty and pale. I could barely read the numbers. 103? - no that was not right. It was all blurry. I crawled to better light. 105? No - it was 106. I had a fever of 106, I was utterly alone in a strange town, and I was virtually immobile. I was dying, and I knew it.

I tried to use the phone several times. It was very hard. Finally I got the number right. Sandy Shores? Sandy, I need help. I have a fever of 106, yes I checked. I cannot stand up. Everything is all twisted. I feel bad. Help me.

Ginna was put on. She assessed my situation. I was to go to the bathroom and apply cool water, not cold. Pour a little cool water in the tub and lay in it. Not more than an inch. Stay awake. Take another aspirin. Sit there until she called back. She would do what she could. Keep trying. Sandy Shores again. Sandy told me to hang on, just keep hanging on. I wanted to live. Sandy wanted me to live. I would live for Sandy, because she wanted me to. Sandy wanted me to come home! I took another antidemonic.

The tub made me sick. I wanted to throw up because of the cool water. I had nothing to throw up, and the action almost made me pass out each time. The phone rang. Ginna told me that I had a flight home. The hotel staff would come to my room and help me. Could I get out of the tub myself? I said I would try.

A blurry shape shook me awake. Somehow I ended up in a cab. On the way I started feeling better. Things were not twisty anymore. I was sweating and freezing less. I thought of Sandy Shores. I was so tired. I rested my head. Somehow, I was on a plane now. I felt even better yet. I was going home to Sandy! My heart raced. I would see Sandy Shores soon. I felt better and better. Sandy wanted me to come home!

When the plane landed, I was almost well. My demonic fever had broken, and I could stand and walk. That nurse, breaking the rules by giving me a bottle of antidemonics very likely had saved my life. Tralala and Ginna and Sandy Shores were there. I kissed and hugged Sandy. I thanked Ginna and Tralala. I was home. How did I feel? Amazingly better! I was hungry! I wanted Pizza!

We went and had pizza. I was alive, I was physically complete and magically self-sustaining as a unicorn, and I was home!

In the many years that have followed, my life has just improved. Sandy Shores and I had our share of hard times, of being poor, of having to find unhappy jobs. A year after we moved out on our own, sweet, gentle Equestria-born Aedina joined our family, now a polyamory, or 'herd marriage' - a common family unit in Equestria. A year after that, My high school best friend and genius programmer Esteban joined us as well, and this completed our little herd. Always we care for each other, help each other, encourage each other. Thus we have lived, loved and shared until the present day. There are so many adventures beyond this point, such incredible stories to tell. Hundreds of pages worth. But the point of them all would be to show that after transmogrification, there is life. Transmogrification is a wonderment, but it is not a goal. Transmogrification is a means to an end, a way to find the beginning.

This then, at this point, was the beginning of my life. I had been entombed in human flesh. Resurrected as a unicorn, I began my life for the first time. This has been the story of how I came to be born. At last I was myself, at last my body fit my identity.

I have never regretted my transmogrification. It is truly a blessing to have the correct flesh to wear. Not a night goes by that I do not hug my barrel or whip about my lovely tail before I fall asleep, and say a silent prayer of thanks to Celestia for the utter relief that I feel. I have been freed from the prison of the wrong life in the wrong species, and there is everything good about it.

Oh, but it is wonderful to be myself.

Oh, but it is wonderful !